


four nights

by pseudocitrus



Category: Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brothels, F/M, Mild Smut, Touken, Tousaki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5724547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudocitrus/pseuds/pseudocitrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Touka evaluates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	four nights

**Author's Note:**

> i started this like 4 months ago and made myself finish it when someone on tumblr messaged me talking about what brothels might look like in TG universe;;;;;;;
> 
> ...hope you're having a good day!

**1**

“H-hello,” he says, closing the door behind him, and Touka evaluates. Apprehension. Dark hair. A small book, stuck into the front pocket of his jacket. A heavy-looking backpack.

“Um…” he says. “Is it…Rabbit?”

“Yes,” she says.

His eyes flick up, in a familiar way, to the top of Touka’s head.

“I have ears in a drawer,” Touka says. “I can put them on if you want.”

“N-no…that’s fine.”

She warms up, a little, and even then it takes fucking forever to get his clothes off. The backpack needs to go — then the jacket — the book falls out of the pocket and he hastily picks it up off the floor and rubs the cover on her blankets, and then apologizes for dirtying her bed. Before he can put the book away, she grabs him, and flings him into the sheets, and crawls on top of him.

He seems like the kind of person that would enjoy this kind of behavior and she is satisfied when his face begins to burn bright red.

“I — don’t know why I’m doing this,” he admits suddenly. “I, um — am not really — the type of person that would —”

His words stagger and cut as she makes him sit up and inverts his clothing over his head. His bare belly is quivery and soft.

“You really like doing this?” he asks weakly, as she unbuttons his pants.

So he is one of _those_ humans.

“I enjoy eating, if that’s what you mean,” Touka says. It’s her usual answer, spoken as brightly as possible, and his eyes turn down.

“What a difficult existence,” he murmurs, and her fingers pause. And dig, slightly, into his flesh.

_No kicking clients, no matter how annoying._ But she does have other liberties.

She stands over him, balancing on the mattress smoothly, toes curling in fishnet. She smiles and flashes her kakugan between heavily-lashed blinks, and as he stares at her, she rolls the ball of her foot across him, teasing him full, and fuller.

Only when he’s straining does she tell him to take himself out, and she spends the next long while teasing him relentlessly, lapping up beads of precum with the tip of her tongue and squeezing the base of him to keep him just a little longer. Once she lets him go, she eases him into another, and another.

Afte that, he’s too tired for his ignorant sympathies.

“Thanks for the meal,” she tells him afterward, and he collects his clothing and takes himself out.

Later, Touka finds the book, hidden and forgotten beneath the edge of a blanket. She considers, and then decides to keep it, as an extra tip to herself.

**2**

“Hi,” he says, closing the door behind him, and Touka evaluates. Apprehension. Dark hair. In this small room, her next breath catches it: the scent of a person who isn’t coming to be eaten.

He has an injury, an eyepatch. His remaining eye is darting around the room. He is hanging by the curtain, and smiling nervously, as if to say, _I don’t know why I’m doing this. I’m not really the type of person that would…_

This is her favorite kind. Someone like her. Someone who needs company.

“It’s okay,” Touka says, and spreads her arms, beckoning. In bed, she makes him sit up, and inverts his clothing over his head. His bare belly is quivery and somewhat soft and bears a scar longer than the hand she uses to stroke his torso, and lower.

“Look at me,” she murmurs, and he does, and she lets the human color of her eyes fade. He closes his left eye as she kisses it, and when it opens, it too is black.

“What type do you have?” Touka asks, and Eyepatch hesitates and doesn’t realize what she’s talking about until her fingertips stroke his spine.

“R-rinkaku,” he murmurs, and her fingers pause, and dig, slightly, into the skin of his lower back. He releases a sharp, heavy sigh, and she continues massaging him, feeling his goosebumps rise under her palm, feeling his kakuhou squirm.

She kisses his mouth, and he gives a not-unfamiliar jerk of shock. It’s been a while, maybe, since he used his mouth for anything other than eating or wanting to eat, and Touka nibbles until his lips soften and part for her, until his tongue comes seeking different sustenance.

She sits in his lap, rocking, legs folding around him, keeping her fingers scratching lightly, and she can tell that alone would be enough to get him, but in a moment of sudden hunger she undoes his pants anyway, and connects. He quakes, delicious, in her arms.

Starvation is hell, for a ghoul.

**3**

“Hi,” he says, closing the door behind him, and Touka evaluates. Tension. Light hair. Someone like her, but — more distant. They discuss.

It’s like this, sometimes, and she enjoys it; it spices things up. (“Spice” in a good way, not the stomachache, vomiting way.) He asks for the ears, and as she adjusts them he puts on his mask, which is…well, it’s not the freakiest one she’s seen, but it ranks pretty high up there.

_Rinkaku,_ she notes. _Again?_  She eyes him, trying to find some relation to Kamishiro-san, but can’t determine anything before he gestures for her to roll onto her belly.

She lies, back arching a little for effect, and then arching more when his kagune begin smoothing and stroking against her, soft at first and then firm, rubbing the knots in her back. A noise slips out of her when he presses on her shoulders, and he pauses, and then approaches.

The bed shifting beneath his knees. His palms resting on her knuckles. His mask unzipping. And his mouth sucking the raised point of her shoulder blades, and the valley between, and finally —

She lets him know, hoarsely, when he’s hit the spot, and he groans a little, and positions his kagune elsewhere. His teeth drag, and she gets wet enough for one of his rinkaku to slide in and make a slow spiral. After minutes of this, she can’t help it; her hips rise up and down against him, trying to take more, and he sucks and licks and gives it to her, once, and again, and again, every time she asks. By the end of it, her back is damp.

“Thanks for the meal,” he tells her afterward, and he collects his clothing and takes himself out.

**4**

“Hello,” he says, closing the door behind him, and Touka evaluates. His hair is fucking weird, for one. For two…he’s wearing a Dove’s coat.

She’s heard of this. She’s never experienced it for herself, but somehow, he seems…familiar.

But she’s sure she hasn’t…so…well. Whatever. She’s heard what it is that Doves sometimes like. As he removes his coat, she reaches for her drawer. She withdraws her mask, and his grimaces.

“Ah…please don’t. That is…is it alright if you don’t?”

“Sure,” Touka says, after a beat. She puts the mask away, and tries not to think of how disturbing it is for a Dove to study her face, especially so closely.

“Sorry,” he says. “You just…seem familiar.”

Ah…one of those. She can handle that. She pats the bed, and he sits.

”Tell me about them,” she whispers, and he laughs, without only a little humor.

“I wish I could.”

Okay…so he is one of _those._ She leans up beside him a little, asks him to lay down beside her, runs her fingers through his hair. Still, his eyes wander the room. Finally, they catch, on a distant shelf.

“What’s that?” he asks, and she follows his gaze, hopefully. If a toy caught his attention —

“That’s just a book,” Touka says, masking her disappointment. “It’s not really…part of the room. If you know what I mean. It’s just a book I’ve been keeping around.”

“Can I see it?”

“Um…please. Go ahead.”

He hooks a finger in its spine and slips it free. The smile he gives its cover…is pretty appealing, honestly.

“I like this one a lot,” he says. “But it’s been a while since I’ve read it. My copy…ah, well, I haven’t gotten it back yet.”

”Oh? That’s unfortunate,” Touka says, at loss.

“The whole story is beautiful, but I love the way it begins. How you’re not sure what’s happening, and how there’s an uncertainty to every scene…” He trails off.

“Anyway, what’s your favorite part?” he asks, and he is so eager that Touka can’t bring herself to say that she hasn’t cracked that book open since the day she stuck it there.

“Page forty-two,” she tells him, “the, um…the last sentence.”

The pages flutter as he searches. He clears his throat.

“’In this room,’” he recites, “‘you mustn’t love anyone.’”

“Poignant, isn’t it?” Touka asks, weakly.

“Yes,” he says, after a moment. “It is.”

It’s her first time doing this sort of…thing. Using this room just for…talking. She pulls a shirt out of one of her drawers to wear, and makes him coffee fresh from her kitchenette, which he praises so earnestly and excitedly that she can feel her face warm. They go over this book, and some other ones. She finds herself entertaining and being entertained by his weird jokes, and for a while it’s like they are normal people, maybe even two people who have known each other for a long time. All too soon, the hour is up.

“Keep it for now,” Touka tells him, when he tries to give the book back. He hesitates and tries to put it back on her shelf, but she stops him.

“It’s okay. Just…come back sometime. To return it, I mean. I’ll be waiting for it,” she warns him, and he laughs, brightly.

“Alright. Please don’t worry.” He smiles. “I’ll see you again soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
